


Waves of Us

by Army C (arh581958)



Series: Comfort [6]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom!Mickey, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, I just want Ian sucking on Mickey's nipples, Lactation, Lactation Kink, M/M, MICKEY'S NIPPLES, Male Lactation, Nipple Licking, Nipple Play, Nipples, Porn, Romantic Fluff, Sex, Top!Ian, its now a thing, nipple sucking, then this happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 14:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7938277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arh581958/pseuds/Army%20C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For months now, Ian’s been sucking his tits. He's downright obsessed with the damn things. He'd find a way to squeeze and pinch Mickey’s nipples while fucking him, then falling asleep on Mickey’s chest while he sucks on them apologetically. It's inevitable that something in Mickey <i>changes</i> to accommodate his boyfriend's, ehrm, affections. </p><p>(Or: shameless lactating!Mickey has finally arrived)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waves of Us

**Author's Note:**

> I've finished my Thesis. Woot! Woot. This is me celebrating. 4.0, baby! :D Hence, I have this really filthy piece of trash that you can enjoy. \:D/
> 
> So, there's this [anonymous kindhearted human who dutifully informed me about male lactation being possible](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/67327687). Yes, I went with it. I'm sorry it took so long. This is for you my anonymous friend. May you shed more wonderful news to this author's innocent mind. :D
> 
>  **Warning:** Contains male lactation. If you aren't comfortable, please turn back now.

It happens one day, out of the blue. Mickey wakes up from another night of Ian thoroughly sucking his nipples. They itch. His hand idly comes up to scratch it. When it does, he hisses from the heightened sensitivity. It goes straight to his cock like a direct switch. He’s hard in a second.

For months now, Ian’s been kneading his pecs and sucking his tits—obsessed with the damn things in the same way that he’s been with, well, Mickey’s whole body but especially his ass. Ian would find a way to squeeze and pinch Mickey’s nipples while fucking him, then falling asleep on Mickey’s chest while he sucks on them apologetically.

Right now, for example, Ian’s face is mashed beside Mickey’s chest, mouth dangerously close to Mickey’s sensitive nipple. Mickey’s raging hard-on alleviates nothing. Things are more complicated when there a gigantic ginger gigantor wrapped around him like a octo-Ian.

“Goddamnit, Gallagher,” Mickey complains under his breath, feeling the sticky tell-tale wetness of drool. It isn’t that he doesn’t drool sometimes when their positions reverse. He knows neither of them can help it after a long day—and an even longer night of impressively acrobatic sex—but it doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Normally, he would have no problem waking his boyfriend awake. Ian loves helping him with his little problem. (It’s only little ‘cause the guy’s dick was the girth of a beer can.) His bladder’s too full. He’d rather rub one off in the bathroom rather than pee in the bed like some kid.

“Gallagher, come on,” Mickey mumbled underneath the massive mess of limbs, “ge’off me! I gotta take a piss! Lemme go or I’ll squirt all over the bed!”

Ian moves on top him. “You squirtin’ sounds real good to me, Mick,” he says, teasingly trailing down Mickey’s side. His fingers cool against Mickey’s sleep-warm skin and his smile looking devilishly handsome in the morning light.

Mickey blushes. The compliment isn’t enough to deter his hard-on. He idly weakly at Ian. “Move!”

“No!” Ian declares playfully, shoving Mickey back down. “Squirt and I’ll swallow.” He says, going down and licking Mickey’s sore nipple.

“Aww, fuck!” Mickey shoves Ian at full strength, and the taller man ends up at the edge of the bed. He covers his bare nipples with his hands.

“Mick, what the hell, man? The fuck’s wrong with you?” Ian glares from Mickey’s feet.

“Fuck, sorry, man.” Mickey reaches to pull Ian back up. “My nipple just _hurt,_ man, fucking stings.”

The anger disappears from Ian’s face. “Oh,” he frowns, looking over Mickey’s swollen nipples. Everything in his face goes straight to concern, guilt, and shame. “Mickey, shit, did I suck it too hard last night? Do you—do you want anything?”

Mickey’s blush only worsens. “Nah, man,” he says, pushing Ian away gently. “Just, uh, lay off’em for a bit, yeah?”

Ian nods eagerly. His face still hasn’t lost his worry though. It’s on there as clear as day.

Mickey doesn’t like that expression. He leans up and licks Ian’s lips. “I was plann’n on jerking one in the shower alone. But since you’re up…” He traces a hand from Ian’s neck down to his impressive morning wood. “…maybe you can join me, ei, Firecrotch? Ya know how I hate cold shower, ayy?”

Ian grins and carries Mickey there.

***

Two days later, and the pain’s still there. Mickey’s chest hurts like a mother fucker. His nipples are oversensitive. It gets worse when it’s hot as balls and he’s stuck under the hood of a ’64 Bug.  With every single move, it feels like the threadbare cotton on his shirts are like sandpaper—so rough and rubbing his nipples raw.

“Argh, fuck!” An arm movement pulls his shirt taunt. His wrench clatters to the ground. He jerks away, cursing. “Goddamn, Gallagher,” he mutters under his breathing, forsaking his boyfriend’s not-so-innocent habit of sucking of his tit at every opportunity. He won’t say that he doesn’t like it but it’s inconvenient at times like this.

“Milkovich!” Kruschev, his boss, yells from two bays away. “What’s with the slippery fingers? I ain’t paying you to sweep the floor! I pay you to fix cars!”

Mickey wants to flip off a double-bird at the guy but he prefers to keep his job. “Ayy, ayy! Accident, ayt? I ain’t break nothin’!” If Kruschev says something back, he doesn’t hear it. He’s too focused on fixing the loose knobs on the engine support. It’s the only thing he can do to distract him from his nipples.

***

“God, Mickey,” Ian breathes into his ear, body hot and sweaty against his back, cock filling him up in the best way possible. It’s good. It’s so good. He loses himself in Ian—Ian’s scent, Ian’s sweat, Ian’s sweet torture every time that ginger dick brushes against his prostate.

His elbows give in.

He falls onto his face in the pillows.

“There! There!” He cries out as the new angle makes Ian push into him even deeper. His back vibrates with Ian’s growl. Hands brandish his hips. It’ll bruise, and he’ll love ever second of it. Something brushes deep inside him, and stays pressed against him. “Ian, god, Ian, fuck, fuck me.” He reaches a hand back to grab Ian’s perfect perky freckled ass to keep him there.

“Mickey.” Ian’s growl is _feral_. “Mickey, fuck, I love you like this. I love it.” Teeth brush against the side of his neck. “I love you pliant and wanting and _needy_.” Lips suck on his sensitive skin. “Love it. Love you. So fucking hot, Mick. Everything. You’re mine. Tell me your mine.”

Sharp pain erupts from his shoulder where Ian bites him.

He howls, body quivering.

“Y—yours,” he gasps out when he comes to, “Only yours, Ian.”

Ian smiles against Mickey’s ear. One of his large hands skim over Mickey’s stomach. Mickey waits of it, cock anticipating the long baby-soft fingers around its girth. He shakes with the _need_ of it. A hand of his cock will make push him over the edge and he already feels like he’s bursting from the seams. He wants Ian to fill him up.

“Ian,” he begs, “Ian, _fuck me_.” It sounds an awful lot like an unspoken ‘please’.

Ian has other plans. He skims over Mickey’s tender chest and pinches Mickey’s nipples at the same time that he buries himself balls-deep.

“FUCK!” Mickey yells himself hoarse. His entire body bows, bowing in surrender to Ian. Ropes of thick white cum streak across the sheets. It would have reached his face if it weren’t pressed against the pillows.

“I love you,” Ian whispers softly into his back.

“M’you too.” Mickey’s reply is muffled by the cotton.

Ian gingerly pulls out, and starts wiping them off with a discarded shirt. Neither of them care whose it is. It’ll end up on the floor anyway. They both prefer to sleep in nude.

Mickey flips onto his back. Ian’s just about finished wiping down his inner thighs when mischief flickers in his green eyes. Mickey knows that look. “Gallagher, don’t,” he warns but there’s no heat to it.

“Yes,” Ian counters while licking his lips. They both know where this is going to. Instead of fighting it,

Mickey lets go of his complains and allows Ian full access to his body. He spreads his legs and puffs out his chest. “Have at it, Firecrotch, that mess ain’t gonna clean itself.”

Ian licks the mess away with long sinful swipes of his tongue—around Mickey’s balls, up and down his shaft, on the tip while his fingers lazily scoop the cum out of his boyfriend’s tight hole. They both shudder at the contact. Mickey’s hole clenches and unclenches around his fingers.

“Damn, Gallagher,” Mickey sighs as he relaxes into the aftercare. He buries his hands in Ian’s hair just to have something to keep him grounded.

Ian wipes his hand off the shirt once his done. Then, he leisurely licks his way up Mickey’s torso—starting at the soft stomach up to the powerful neck.

Mickey whimpers and groans in pleasure. His cock makes a desperate attempt to get back in the game but no dice. “Ian,” he moans out his lover’s name. “S’good. So good.”

Ian kisses the wide expanse of Mickey’s chest. “Can I?” He asks, breath hot against Mickey’s nipple.

“Soft,” Mickey says, blushing. “There’s still tender.”

Ian frowns. “I haven’t sucked your nipples in a week. How can they be tender?”

“Can it. They just do, ayt?” Mickey’s blush deepens. His fingers tighten in Ian’s hair. “Are you gonna suck’em or not?”

Ian does, but he does so with soft gentle lick just like a kitten, not enough to arouse.

Mickey falls asleep like that—with Ian lips the last thing he remembers.

***

When Mickey wakes up, it’s the middle of the night and Ian’s slobbering on him like a dog under the sun. They’re trapped in a cocoon of blankets. He’s sweating like a pig despite the lack of insulation. It’s doesn’t help that Ian’s making an Olympic-sized pool of saliva on his chest.

“Gallagher,” he mumbles under his breath, weakly pushing the redhead away. Ian doesn’t even stir. Saliva drips down between his pecks. It’ll dry in uncomfortable places in the morning. “Yo, Gallagher, get’off me, man.” He shoves at Ian for a second time. “Gallagher, Ian, come on!”

Ian mutters something in his sleep. His lips brush against Mickey’s sensitive nipple.

Mike cries out. White-hot pleasure zap through his nerves like an express way leading straight down to his cock. His whole body twitches at the sensation. It’s like he has no control of it, especially when he’s got all 152 pounds of Gallagher wrapped around him. Precum oozes from the tip of his cock.

That’s when he notices it.

Something else is leaking somewhere too.

He feels it _leak_ like the last drops of piss he couldn’t shake off—except it’s from his nipple.

“What the fuck?!” Mickey bolts out of bed. He sheds the blanket like it burned him, uncaring if Ian shivered from the sudden change in temperature or jerks awake from being toppled over. All of Mickey’s high brain functions concentrate on the state of his torso. He stares at the two shiny wet lines dripping from his very erect nipple. “What.The.Fuck?!”

As if on cue, Ian blinks awake. “Mick?” He yawns, rubbing at his eyes. “Something wrong?”

The words form in Mickey’s head but get stuck half-way up his throat.

“Mick?” Ian’s got his big green worried eyes staring straight at Mickey.

Mickey’s frozen. He can’t move anything but his eyes. Blue eyes flicker downwards several times. It takes some time for the sleep-addled Gallagher to comprehend the unspoken instructions. Ian’s gaze lowers from Mickey’s face to the pale chest.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” He asks in confusion.

Mickey wants to punch the asshole in the face if he didn’t love Ian so much. He grits his teeth and throws a fuck-it to the wind. “My nipples are l—” It catches mid-sentence. Gallagher will think he’s a freak of nature, an abomination, a fucking—he stops himself from going any further and swallows the lump in his throat. Ian’s got his big puppy dog eyes waiting for him to finish.

“My nipples are, uh, _leaking_ ,” he says the final word with a grimace.

Ian’s brows furrow. “What?”

Mickey points to his tits. “Leaking,” he repeats, and watches with dread as Ian’s eyes follow the path of his finger. He waits for inevitable judgement that’s about to come, for Ian to realize that he’s a freak of nature— _wrong_ in so many ways.

It doesn’t come.

“Oh,” is all Ian says. It might be the remnants of sleep, or _something_ , but then he makes a funny face before pushing Mickey back down on the pillows. The sheets follow soon after. Then, he’s latching onto Mickey’s nipple and _suckling_ like a babe.

Mickey moans. The sound pulling from the depths of his cock, straight from his core. He can’t stop it. His mouth’s running on autopilot, mumbling phrases and words and a whole bunch of other things that he’ll never admit tomorrow. It’s wrong. He knows it’s wrong but he can’t help his body’s reactions to the white-hot pleasure zinging to his cock.

“Ian, Ian,” he breathes, grabbing Ian by hair and tugging the redhead off. “You gotta stop, man, I ain’t no saint. Imma come.”

Ian persists, and suckles even harder.

“Ah!” Mickey bucks wildly when Ian pinches his other nipple. “Ian!”

He’s gone.

The dual sensation of both his nipples being teased completely melts away his rational thinking. It’s wave after wave of gentle sensations coaxing him further and further away from land until he’s floating in a sea of sensations—waves of Ian and him, waves of _them_. He’d rather be here than anywhere else.

“Ian, oh, _god_.” His toes curl into the sheets, fingers grab at Ian’s shoulders, nails dig angry red marks on Ian’s flesh. It’s weird to feel something _coming out_ of his nipples with every suckle—like a girl. The shame multiplies the intensity of his arousal.

Ian licks and _laves_ at his sore tits. Mickey surrenders to it—to Ian, forgetting the embarrassment. With every soft suckle, the sea level rises higher and higher. He’s on top of a great wave. It crashes onto dry land like a tsunami. His orgasm crests with the same power. Dams break behind his eyes, and the tears flow freely down his cheeks.

Mickey’s nothing but a shivering heap of meat and skin after his comes a second time.

“Fuck,” Ian speaks for the first time. His lips are sinfully _pinkish_ with traces of a milky white substance clinging to his lips. He licks it, and makes an obscene sound that rumble down to his chest. “That was delicious, Mickey. How do you feel?” He asks, running a sweaty cum-streaked hand through Mickey’s hair.

If Mickey had any more energy left, he would have wrinkled his face in disgust. He settles for groaning half-assed in hope that Ian understand him.

Ian chuckles. “That good, huh?”

Mickey feels sticky in so many places—his chest, his stomach, and his thighs. He realizes that Ian must have come too during that time. Ian _came_ because he sucked Mickey off _from the nipples_.

“N’pp’es,” he mutters incoherently. “M’le’kin’”

Ian touches the other pectoral, the one he didn’t suckle from. Mickey hisses instantly at the tenderness.

“This side still full, Mick?”

Mickey only groans.

Ian licks languidly over the areole of the still-swollen nipple. “Want me to suck this tit dry too?”

Another shiver runs through Mickey’s entire body. Try as he may, he’s out for the night. There’s no way that Ian can wrangle another orgasm out of him after cumming thrice last night and twice this morning. He’s already come dry once. His balls are so empty they might shrivel up and shrink.

“Got no more in me, Firecrotch, might take a while to fill’em back up.”

Ian moves his hand away from Mickey’s crotch. He places it at the center of Mickey’s chest. It’s an affectionate gesture like he takes comfort in Mickey’s beating heart.

“I’m not talking about your dick, Mick,” he says, touching the tender muscle of Mickey’s chest, frowning at Mickey’s grimace. “I want you to feel better. You’ve been sore for days. Do you want me to milk your other tit? It’ll keep if from hurting.”

It should be illegal for Ian to look so damn innocent and extremely fucking sexy at the same time. Mickey tells him as much, earning a laugh.

“So, let me milk you, Mick?”

Mickey laughs. It’s strained because he isn’t entirely comfortable with the new development, but it’s something. “Ain’t this gonna be a whole different kinda weird, Gallagher? I’m leaking _milk_ from my tits. What’s next? Me growin’ a vagina so I can wear a dress now?”

Ian frowns. “Ain’t nobody fuckin’ asked to wear a dress, Milkovich. You ain’t no body’s bitch.”

Despite the rough words, Mickey relaxes. Blunt cussing Southside’s always been more his style. It’s his comfort zone. When he laughs, it’s more genuine. Ian’s still giving him a full-frontal of sappy-eyed lovesick idiot which isn’t fair because he’s weak against it. He won’t ever be able to deny this ginger fool anything.

“Ayt, ayt,” Mickey relents, slightly grinning, “Have at’em, Firecrotch, but, uh, be gentle, ayt?”

Ian kisses him on the lips then gets them ready. Once they’re in position—Mickey cradling Ian’s head by his chest and Ian’s arms around Mickey’s waist—Ian latches on to Mickey’s nipple and suckles.

They fall asleep just like that.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew. That was hard to write. How'd you like it? :D 
> 
> If you have a prompt or an idea, you can [INSPIRE ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/submit) on tumblr. Or [TALK TO ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/ask)~
> 
> As always, **kudos/comments/bookmarks** are all appreciated by this author. I take comments as extra-kudos and I _do_ read the bookmark tags (some are really fun).


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